


On the Subject of Post-Surgical Convalescence

by Fayola



Series: Advanced Medic Training: Footnotes [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayola/pseuds/Fayola
Summary: In which First Aid learns that some patients require a bit more specialized care than others.





	On the Subject of Post-Surgical Convalescence

     First Aid was tired. Rightfully so, he’d admit, though he would also be the first to admit that Ratchet was even worse off. The mech had already been on the tail end of his shift when the call to battle had been sounded, a battle that had been long and hard and left them with nearly a full day of triage and surgeries after the fact, so while First Aid felt like a wrung-out sponge, he still didn’t hesitate to band together with Hoist to shoo their CMO off to berth. (That it was the rickety on-call berth in the physician’s lounge rather than the Ratchet’s own went without commentary. Small victories.)

     That had been a good three hours ago, so First Aid figured he had maybe half that time still before Ratchet forced himself out of recharge to make rounds again. While such obsessive-compulsive vigilance was normally a point of contention, First Aid couldn’t help but feel selfishly grateful for it today. He was well and truly knackered. 

     He dumped an armful of dirty towels into a bin, shuffled sideways toward the sink to scrub his hands a final time, then turned back to the main bay–

     –and had to stifle a rather undignified noise at the sudden appearance of another mech just a few steps away. 

     “ _What_ – the _Pit—_ ” 

     Placating hands immediately went up.

     “I’m sorry,” Sideswipe said, though First Aid sourly thought the little grin on his faceplates dampened the sincerity of the apology. “You looked deep in thought, I didn’t wanna interrupt you.”

     “You wouldn’t have spoiled anything other than a good fantasy of a nap,” First Aid grumbled. He frowned as he willed his sparkrate back down. “What are you doing here? I thought Hoist discharged you this morning… Are you okay? Did something happen?” His optics immediately traced the still fresh welds criss-crossing the frontliner’s abdomen and right leg, hoping he hadn’t split one, but everything _looked_ fine. 

     “Nope,” Sideswiped confirmed, rocking back on his heels. “I’m good.” 

     O…kaaay. 

     Sideswipe was far from an uncommon sight in the medbay, both on and off the operating tables and recovery berths. As much as Ratchet liked to grouse about the inherent stupidity and pique-inducing personality traits of Lambos, he was one of their most diligent gophers when they were short-handed. He never complained, not even the most gruesome injuries could phase him, and he knew how to keep from getting underfoot. 

     “Well… there’s not really… anything left I could have you do,” First Aid hedged, glancing about the quiet medbay pointedly. “Ratchet finished up with the last of the patients before he went to berth, and I just finished up all the cleaning.” 

     "Oh, yeah.” Sideswipe rocked back and forth on his heels, mirroring the quick glance about the room. “Okay.”

     He continued to rock in place, glancing around aimlessly, with something of a restless buzz in his energy field. First Aid squinted an optic.

     “You should probably be resting,” he proffers. 

     Sideswipe nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” And continues to stand there. Rocking. Staring. Restless-buzzing.

     First Aid’s squint intensified. “Did… you want to recharge _here_?”

     “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, thanks!” came the rushed acceptance, followed by the sharp about face and eager scarpering towards the nearest empty berth. He climbed atop, heedful of the still-soft welds, and eased himself down. He was barely horizontal before his optics dimmed and shuttered. 

     Dimly aware that he was pulling a face behind him mask, and too tired to control it, First Aid decided it was easiest to follow his mentor’s example: he shook him helm with a muttered “Frakking Lambos…”, and promptly ignored the red menace. 

     Between his exhaustion and the natural stupor that came from filling out clerical datapads, First Aid had all but forgotten about his impromptu guest and was startled out of his filework when Ratchet blustered into the office some hour and a half later, demanding, “What the hell did that idiot do now?!”

     First Aid had to actively think for a moment before he could parse which idiot Ratchet was implying. 

     “Oh, he – no, he’s fine.” Aid sat upright in the chair, wincing as a cable in his back creaked in protest. “He just wanted to recharge here.”

     Ratchet, surprisingly, seemed to have nothing to say on this matter. The scowl slipped from his faceplates as he leaned out of the office doorway to glance back at Sideswipe’s prone form. “Right,” he said, raising a hand to rub wearily at the space between his optics, “I’ll finish those reports. Go get some recharge.” He stepped back, allowing First Aid to slip through the door into medbay proper. 

     First Aid tried to mumble his thanks but was hindered by a sudden yawn. He shook his helm as it passed, vision recalibrating, and he turned with the intention of letting Ratchet know where he’d left off on the open report, but he startled to realize his mentor had not continued following him. He had instead paused at Sideswipe’s berth, staring calmly down at him, one bright red hand reaching out to gently stroke a black helm horn. As if sensing optics on him, Ratchet turned.

     “Good work today, kid,” he murmured. “Go on, get some rest.”

     Vocalizer stalling on a response, First Aid just nodded. He turned to shuffle towards the door, and could see out of the edge of his visor that Ratchet was already turning back towards Sideswipe, red hand resting atop a black one, and that uncharacteristic softness back in his optics as he guarded his patient’s sleep.

 

* * *

 

_While the patient may have been repaired to a state of physical self-sufficiency, a refractory period may still exist which necessitates closer observation. Convalescence may be spent in the medical facilities proper, inpatient facilities, or in the care of relations or associates who are knowledgeable of the patient’s condition._


End file.
